A record that the listener can fall asleep to is not necessarily a bad thing; in fact, the ones that do this the best are rare. The Sea and Cake's latest offering, One Bedroom, is the kind of album one can put on and drowse causally into a morphine-like state.

Listeners won't even think about wiping the drool from their chins until the album's 40 minutes are up. Drowsed vocals, haunting synthesizers, electronic drums and barely strummed acoustic guitars add up to the fantasy world the band masterfully creates.

It's a sound reminiscent of the jazz-rock of Steely Dan, the poppier moments of Yo La Tengo, a dash of '80s cheese and a lot of electronic jam. Yuppie guys dressed in chinos who drink expensive red wine could easily be taking hallucinogens to this collage of music.

Not that there is anything wrong with that, but it's the same tea-and-crumpet crowd who probably dig David Gray or play electronic jazz while throwing a "party."

Consider that a pseudo-warning, but the music is not snotty in any sense. Actually, it's the opposite. One Bedroom is easily accessible and radio does not play anything like it. Listeners will swoon when they hear the perfectly chilled indie pop.

After six albums, it appears as if The Sea and Cake has matured its sound to encapsulate an entire record. One Bedroom can only be listened to as a whole unit; no song sticks out, and they flow seamlessly into each other.

The opening track, "Four Corners," lures the audience like a gentle siren with an enticing guitar line, and then vocalist/guitarist Sam Prekop chides the listener with wry vocals.

With the flow of the music, one almost expects Prince to sing, but Prekop's Camel-coated falsetto fits The Sea and Cake perfectly.

Even though the band has the polished gleam of overproduction, its lyrics brim with an ever-present existential dread. One can see the indie upbringings of the pop group. Its lyrics could easily fit a narcissistic punk rock act.

"Don't ask me why, lights go down, I surrender ... just along the way you got to lose some ... I don't know all my way," Prekop whines in the bouncy title track.

"Interiors" crawls to a shuddering electronic beat, and soft harmonies float over Prekop's paranoid visions.

"There is much to know my enemy ... and I hope that you are wrong for the last time."

Then the track takes a turn and breaks down into a sudden tribal-like rhythm with Prekop's continued harmonies.

The last track, 'Sound & Vision," a remake of a David Bowie song, is the most upbeat the band gets. Keyboards glimmer against a backdrop of shifting guitar lines and rotating delivery of the lyrics. The effect is a headphone masterpiece, with alternating lines sung through different channels.

It will tingle the ears with pleasure, waking the listener up just in time to realize the album is over.